Too Much Free Time
by Luinecu
Summary: A collection of short stories of the events that passed set while Jack and his crew are following the Black Pearl to Isla de Muerta. What did the crew get up to in their free time?
1. Opening

Here is a collection of tales, set in the time when Captain Jack Sparrow and his crew were in pursuit of the Black Pearl, onboard the commandeered Interceptor. What actually happened in that time in between? I have taken up the chance to write a few short stories that fit within that time period. Each is told by one of the characters, with their thoughts and views on what's happening around them. I am not writing these in any particular order, only as they come to me, so all the days will be jumbled around. But I don't plan them needing to go in any particular order anyway.  
  
Each chapter is a different story, so click away, and don't forget to review!  
  
Author's Notes: To my knowledge, there is no way of knowing how long it actually took to get to Isla De Mureta. I guess it took around three or so weeks, as travailing by wind-powered ships is rather slow. But that's just my opinion. If you can prove me wrong in some way, I would love to know. BTW, You will find here the story 'Voice of Anamaria' which I originally posted on it's own.. no changes have been made to it since, except I fixed that one typo I found (  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of The Pirates of The Caribbean characters. I just borrow them... without permission. If I did, I would be rolling in a swimming pool of pound coins, not writing fanfics, which I don't make a penny off. 


	2. Salmagundi

Salmagundi- Told by Will  
  
Eating with the crew. Once again, I am forced to mingle and dine with. no, wait, they don't dine, they gobble. It's like being in a pig-sty, everyone arguing and fighting to get more then their fair share of rations, rum mugs sliding across the table as the ship moves, and the stomach-churning smell of the day's sweat and rancid soup.  
  
I look down into my watery bowl of 'Salmagundi'. The limp stew looks rather discoloured, and I poke what looks to be cabbage with the round of my spoon. A layer of grease is floating on top of the yellow water, broken up by mounds of roughly cut unpeeled carrot that looks like it's been in the pot for the last week. I dip in the spoon, letting the liquid fill the bowl of it, and I raise it to my lips, screwing up my face in preparation. The bad excuse for food is cold and ghastly. It seems even worse then yesterdays batch. Though thinking about it, Jack probably had enough of the stuff made to last us the whole way, and their just heating it up every meal time. That still wouldn't explain the new fishy taste though, that wasn't there on Monday.  
  
Gibbs, having already finished his bowlful, looks over at me, and says with a grin, "Jus' gulp it down lad, it's gettin' cold."  
  
"It's already freezing," I complain bitterly, fishing around the substance gingerly.  
  
"Bit o' salt might help," he said wit a shrug, taking a swig from Cotton's mug of rum. Cotton hadn't noticed. He was busy flirting hopelessly, yet silently with Ana-Maria, while his parrot was flying round the room, stealing more then its share of stale bread.  
  
I nod grimly, and call above the noise "Oy! Can anyone see the salt?"  
  
No answer.  
  
I yell at the top of my voice, rising from the bench. "CAN ANYONE SEE THE BLOODY SALT!?"  
  
Everyone stops, mugs raised to lips, mouths open, full of half chewed food and gold teeth. I wonder whether I should have bothered, seeing the salt nested behind my mug. Someone calls out in a voice made ridiculously posh, in a poor reproduction of my own accent "Aye Avast!"  
  
There is a roar of laughter across the table, and I stare bewildered at them, setting my spoon in my bowl. What's so funny about that? I ask myself, trying to grasp the joke. I look at Gibbs for an answer, but he is clutching his sides, laughing madly. I rack my brains trying to think. I never said that, did I? I remember suddenly, and feel an immediate rush of heat up my neck, I lurch to defend myself.  
  
"I only said that once!" I argue, biting my lip.  
  
Ana, who was still snickering into her bowl, looked up and said, failing to keep a straight face, "Nobody ever says that Will!"  
  
I look at her, brow furrowed.  
  
The parrot squawks something loudly, that I can't quite make out. Cotton grins wickedly, and Gibbs lets out another roar of laughter, "Cotton's right."  
  
I turn to Gibbs, "Kindly translate, as you seem to be fluent in the hidden meanings of parrot chatter," I remark coldly.  
  
"Cotton says it's social suicide mate."  
  
Ana snorts, banging her fist on the table.  
  
I fold my arms irritably, It wasn't THAT bad. I could of said something really stupid, like called them all Sons of a Biscuit Eaters or something. I try and reassure myself. "Fine!" I call, "What should I have said?"  
  
"Nothin' would have worked, it seems everything that you say aids in diggin' yer own grave Will," Gibbs blurted, causing Ana to stifle a laugh behind her hand.  
  
"I'm not going to put up with this," I say, rising from the bench, and placing one leg on the other side, "I've got better things to do with my." As I lift my other foot over the bench, the buckle catches on the wood, and I am sent crashing to the floor. I unhook my foot from the bench with difficulty.  
  
The crew is now heaving with laughter, bent over their bowls. "All right whelp?" One asks, grinning from ear to ear.  
  
"Just fine," I snap, dragging myself to my feet, and clutching my bruised and rapidly swelling forehead. I turn to leave, my meal left forgotten on the table.  
  
"Well," began Gibbs, "When you're a you-know-what, when you have to go, you don't really have a choice!"  
  
Another burst of laughter rumbles about the table, and I stop at the door, one hand on the doorknob.  
  
"Poor guy," One says, shaking his head grimly,  
  
"Don' know 'ow 'e copes," Another chips in, hiding a grin.  
  
I turn back around, "What the hell is it now?" I yell, my face screwed up in anger.  
  
"*cough* Eunuch *cough*" someone stifles behind their hand.  
  
I ignore their laughter, "I'm not a bloody. wait." I think for a second, "What gave you that idea? ... Jack. I'm gunna kill the bastard!"  
  
Several cries of "OOhh" follow me out of the room, as I stomp on deck to find our 'beloved' captain. I draw my sword as I approach his back, my face fixed in a glare.  
  
He turns to me drunkenly, and grins, "'Ello Love!"  
  
I choose to ignore though make a mental note to question him when he's sober (is he ever?) "You told them! You went behind my back and bitched!" I say, waving my sword at him.  
  
Jack sways a little, more from rum then the movement of the ship, he looks at me, one eyebrow raised in confusion. "Why would you be batting 'round such lies now 'ey?" He asks, before taking a swig from the bottle, only then realizing it's empty. He shakes it, disappointed.  
  
"You told them the... the... eunuch joke"  
  
He has his ringed eye placed to the mouth of the bottle, as if just to check there really is nothing left. He reluctantly removes it from his eye, swinging the bottle in his right hand, "Aye, what of it lad?"  
  
"Well, I'm now the laughing stock of the ship!"  
  
"And?"  
  
"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"  
  
"Will lad, I'm sorry, but you are just so easy to tease! Every bloody thing that comes from your mouth digs your own grave!"  
  
"I've been told."  
  
"Aye." He nods.  
  
I open my mouth to say something else, but the captain's attention is already turned back to the bottle. He runs his finger along the inside of the neck, trying to get the last drip. Failing, he screws up his face, and pokes his tongue out to see if he can catch it. I roll my eyes, and turn around, may as well get that three hours practice in now. After all, I won't be able to show my face around the crew for at least the rest of the evening. 


	3. Jacks Little Book of Secrets

Jack's Little Book of Secrets- Told by Anna-Maria  
  
It is now three weeks into our long voyage pursuing the Black Pearl. The crew sits, quietly for once, drinking what little rum our rations allow, and hardly bothering to even talk to one another. All moods are at an all time low. Well, all excluding Captain Jack Sparrow. He sits upon the planks, bottle of rum in his hand, and with much exaggeration and expression, tells for the twentieth time a rather fictional tale of his adventures on the Pearl.  
  
Even young Will is now tiered of our Captain's good mood and repetitive stories. He has taken to the rail, where he often stands looking out to sea. Jack says he's sea-sick, I prefer the little more romantic thought that he is longing for Miss Swann, but I'm not about to ask. Couldn't care less.  
  
With a sigh, I turn to Jack,  
  
"An' then I waited in the water for three nights an' three days till.."  
  
"For all the gold in Spain, give it a bloody rest will ya Jack"  
  
"Captain Jack love, Captain."  
  
I have half a mind to throw my mug of rum at him, right between his eyes. If it wasn't the only mug I'd be getting' all night I would. Instead, I scowl, and grumble under my breath.  
  
"Get me some more rum, will ya?" He holds the bottle under my nose, and shakes it around just to prove there's nothing inside.  
  
"Get your own bloody rum, Captain," I hiss, taking a swig from my own mug. Of course the boat jolts just at the wrong moment, and I am sent spluttering into my lap. Jack smirks.  
  
I look over him, searching for some insult to throw back. In his pocket, I spot the corner of something blue. I tug it from there, taking it in my right hand. "What's this" I ask, flicking through the pages of a small leather bound book with yellow pages.  
  
"Nuffin' Captains log," he says matter-of-factly with a nod.  
  
"Is that so." I continue to flicker through, I'm not much of a quick reader myself, never went to school or nuffin'.  
  
He makes a lurch at the book. I swipe at him with my left, holding the diary as far out as possible. "Aww, look at this, it's a diary see. Captain Jack's Diary! It's like the ones 'em rich lasses 'ave, to put in all their secrets!" I say to the crew, not that many paid attention. Either way, it seemed to piss Sparrow off.  
  
I flick through the pages, "How'd you learn to read an' write Jack?" I ask him curiously, still batting him back with my empty rum mug.  
  
He looks at me with one raised brow, and stops making mad grabs at the book. "I learnt from the same way most little rich boysies do."  
  
"'ow's that?"  
  
"From the Bible." He says with a wink and a grin, showing teeth of metal and pearl.  
  
I burst out laughing, but quickly contain it, "I found it quite a bore, only read the first page, then put it down." I continue to flick through the book. A familiar name grabs my attention halfway down on March 26th. "Hey! I'm in yer book." I read on, my face falling. I swipe at Jack with the book, catching him with a hard slap on the cheek.  
  
"What was that for?" He asks, clutching a rectangular red mark on his face.  
  
"This!" I snarl, running my finger under the offending passage. "I wouldn't do such a thing. Especially with the likes of you Sparrow."  
  
"Aye Lass, but yer have before. Remember love? Best god damm.."  
  
He is stopped now with my fist coming into contact with his jaw.  
  
"That.." he says rubbing it, "Was NOT very lady like!"  
  
All I can do is glare at him from under my hat, ferocious at both him, and my burning face.  
  
"As I was saying.. It was.."  
  
"Shut up Jack" I get up, and quickly begin to walk towards the cabins.  
  
"That's Captain Jack to you lass!" 


End file.
